Chapter Two: ‘Hark! Ye quiet horrors...!’

Hector had snuck out of the house, which he had never done before and was not sure he ever wanted to do again. His room was on the second floor, so he jumped out the window and broke both of his legs, which hurt like hell, he discovered.

Garovel laughed, promptly apologized for laughing, and then fixed him. He asked Garovel why he could still feel pain, and the reaper explained that pain was still useful in letting him know which parts worked and which didn’t.

“Are you really sure about this?” he mumbled into the cool night air.

‘What do you mean? Of course I’m sure.’

“But... how am I supposed to stop a serial killer...? You’re not gonna... make me... kill this guy, right?”

‘Oh, no. That could get messy. Serial killers are matters for the authorities, but I’ve been observing this guy, and in this instance, the police could use an assist. Just someone to point them in the right direction, that is.’

“Point, how?”

‘An anonymous phone call.’

“That will actually work?”

‘We just have to give them an excuse to visit his apartment at a particularly inconvenient time for him. The rest should follow.’

They walked for a long while in the dark, leaving the modesty of Hector’s inner city neighborhood for the downtown towers. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but judging by the fog gathering between the buildings, he guessed it was late enough to be considered early again. The air tram had not stopped running, though, carrying rowdy passengers above the street on its suspended rails, and loud music in the distance bridged the gaps not already filled by sirens.

People on the sidewalks and in the street paid him little mind as they laughed at each other’s jokes or stumbled out of a night club or slept on the bench in front of a Nancy’s.

He wondered what he would do if some stranger came up to him and started talking, like what happens in every movie where a young person ends up in a strange neighborhood late at night, and the more he thought about it, the more he resolved that there wasn’t much for him to be afraid of. In fact, he almost wanted some creepy drunk person to saunter up and start a conversation, just so he could see what would happen. He figured it would inevitably be something surprising, like them turning out to be really fun and perfectly harmless, if a bit over-friendly from the inebriation. And if they tried to kidnap and murder him, well. That would be surprising for them.

‘Here,’ said Garovel, stirring him from his wonderment. The reaper drifted near a phone booth, and Hector entered. ‘Up there.’

He looked where the reaper pointed and saw a fourth floor balcony of a high-end apartment building. A man stood there, smoking in front of a lamp over a window. Even at this distance, he could see that the man was well-dressed in a dark suit and undone tie.

“That... that’s the guy?”

‘Yeah.’

Hector eyed the phone in front of him. The next step was obvious enough, but he hesitated. “But... what if...”

‘Hmm?’

“What if I call the police... and they come and... what if that guy kills one of them?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Garovel looked at him heavily. ‘If you’re wondering why I’m not sending you in there instead, it’s because this is your first try. I don’t intend to give you more than you can handle.’

“But... if someone has to risk their life... then it should be me... shouldn’t it?”

The reaper made no response.

Hector kept pressing. “I mean, because, I-I can’t die, right? He won’t be able to kill me? And... because I... I already wasted my life, anyway, so... I wouldn’t even be risking anything...”

‘Are you telling me you want to deal with him yourself?’

“I... uh... yeah.”

Garovel tilted his head. ‘That’s surprisingly bold of you. I thought you’d prefer to take things slower.’

“I just... don’t want anyone getting killed, is all...”

‘If that’s the case, then you should probably hurry.’

Hector’s face stiffened. “What? Why?”

‘Well, you know how I said the plan was to have the police visit him at an inconvenient time? He kills women by seducing them and bringing them back to his apartment, so the intention was to have them show up in the middle of--’

“What?!” He looked back to the balcony, but the man wasn’t there anymore. He grabbed the phone and dialed the police.

‘Now you’re calling? But you just said--’

“Hello?!” he yelled into the receiver. “There’s a guy in my building about to kill someone! He’s got a gun--”

‘He uses a knife.’

“--I mean, a knife, and ah--I heard him making threats on someone’s life from outside his apartment!”

<”What is your location?”>

“Ah--” Garovel gave him the address of the building, and he relayed it to the operator.

<“Please stay on the line, sir.”>

“Sorry, I can’t! Just get here!” He hung up and ran across the street. He barged through the entrance, and a security guard scrambled to stop him, but Hector had quite a head start. “Matter of life and death!” he shouted back as an apology

He bounded up the first staircase he saw and got off at the fourth floor. A pair of hallways bade him choose, so he followed Garovel’s directions to the door of the murderer.

Hector pounded on the door. “Hello?! Please open up, sir! There’s, ah--a gas leak, and we need to evacuate the building!”

No answer.

Garovel ventured inside. ‘He’s hiding her in the bathroom.’

He backed up and started kicking the door. “Please, sir! I know you’re in there! This is very important!” The door didn’t budge at all. It might as well have been a wall.

‘He’s about to slit her throat.’

“No!”

‘Here.’ Garovel found his shoulder, and Hector immediately felt an explosion of pain throughout his body before it vanished familiarly. ‘Kick it in!’

The door flew from its hinges, ripping its deadbolt and chained lock right out of the wood and plaster.

“What the fuck?!” came a voice from the bathroom, and when the man came out and saw Hector, horror struck his face and he backed away toward the living room. “What the fuck are you?!”

And Hector was confused, because he couldn’t see his own skin eating away at itself, revealing the dried, bloodless muscles of his face. He couldn’t see his shaved hair gone ghostly white or his bloodshot eyes outlined in dead, blackened flesh. Hector just kept walking forward, undeterred by the knife that the murderer threw into his chest, and he grabbed the man by the throat and slowly tightened his grip. Hector could hardly believe how weak the man’s struggles were. He easily kept him pinned against the wall, strangling the man until he fell unconscious.

Hector looked at his hands for a second, awed and frightened of himself. He spotted a bundle of rope by the bed, presumably used on the victim earlier. He wrapped it around the killer and tied a triple knot as tightly as he could manage.

Then he saw the woman in the bathroom. She was still alive, and conscious, even. When she saw him, she tried to scream and wriggle free, but her constraints kept her in place all too perfectly. She’d been beaten, apparently, and shallow cuts riddled her arms and face and stomach.

Hector stepped toward her and then stopped, thinking better of it. “Sorry,” he told her. “I’d untie you, but... you should probably stay and explain... uh, to the police... about what he tried to do to you. Otherwise, he could... you know... get away with it... and... yeah...”

She only stared back at him, wide-eyed.

“Oh! But, uh... don’t worry! The police will be here any minute. And he’s unconscious now. And I tied him up just in case. So... uh... y-you’re safe, now. And I-I should, I should go...”

Upon hearing sirens in the distance, he ran. Some onlookers had gathered outside, the security guard from earlier among them, but he just pushed past them. He didn’t stop running until he couldn’t see the apartment complex anymore.

Garovel grabbed his shoulder, and suddenly, his strength left him. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. His deathly body, however, returned to normal. The blackened and missing chunks of flesh grew anew, becoming the livelier ashy brown color they were before. He barely felt capable of walking, as if he’d just run a marathon where the prize was getting run over by a bus.

“You didn’t mention anything... about whatever the hell... you did to me back there...” This time, his pauses were attributed more to his exhaustion and strained breaths.

‘I converted the energy your body would normally use to support your life into muscle strength. Which sorta makes you look like a corpse and is why that guy freaked out when he saw you.’

“Oh... okay...”

‘You’re going to feel like I ripped your muscles out of your body and replaced them with flaming needles tomorrow, by the way.’

“Joy...”